


Job Killer

by thirty2flavors



Category: Borderlands (Video Games), Tales from the Borderlands - Fandom
Genre: Comedy, F/M, Modern AU, Prompt Fic, tattoo artist au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-06
Updated: 2018-05-06
Packaged: 2019-05-03 02:07:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14558514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thirty2flavors/pseuds/thirty2flavors
Summary: The night went on, and discussions escalated. Egos clashed. Shots were had. Challenges were made and accepted.Rhys woke up Saturday morning with a splitting headache and a reminder on his phone about an appointment with a tattoo parlour.





	Job Killer

**Author's Note:**

> For a dialogue prompt meme, I got Rhys/Sasha + "I don't want to screw this up." Debated several canon traditional stories, wound up with 3.5k of this. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Took a lot of liberties with timelines and things. That's what AUs are for, right?
> 
> Everything I learned about tattooing I learned from Google.

Rhys’ first mistake began where most of his mistakes did: at the office. 

In theory it was a work social, in practice the perfect storm. Casual drinks in the kitchen encompassed the end of the day and spread to the bar across the street. Rhys wanted to network. Vaughn, typically the voice of reason, was home sick. Soon, a rather liquored Rhys found himself in a very public discussion with Hugo Vasquez, a man sober Rhys usually had the good sense to avoid. 

Hugo resented Rhys for achieving in three years what Hugo had achieved in ten. Rhys resented Hugo for his condescension, and also his ridiculous beard. They resented each other for being competitors after the same promotion.

The night went on, and discussions escalated. Egos clashed. Shots were had. Challenges were made and accepted.

Rhys woke up Saturday morning with a splitting headache and a reminder on his phone about an appointment with a tattoo parlour.

* * *

Rhys’ second mistake was keeping his appointment.

Siren Song Tattoo Parlour was three blocks west of the office, right at the juncture where right and wrong sides of the proverbial train tracks bled together. With ten minutes to go, Rhys stared up at its sign from the sidewalk, frowning. He could not, as it happened, entirely remember the details of his prior visit. The storefront looked familiar, and he had foggy memories of beautiful people making promises that held appeal at the time. He did not remember much else. 

Mostly, he remembered Vasquez’s goading. The particulars were lost in a wash of tequila, but Rhys was certain it was the usual: the threats masquerading as jokes, the barbs about Rhys’ personal life that skirted the bounds of HR guidelines, the insinuations about the real secrets of Rhys’ early success. 

What an asshole. Rhys hoped Vasquez had woken up with the hangover from hell and several unusual piercings. 

Through the windows of the store, Rhys could see the eclectic interior decorating, the walls covered in framed photos of very cool-looking clients with intimidating haircuts and a ton of ink on their skin. Rhys had long been a fan of tattoos—on other people. He liked the individualism and artistry. He aspired to the degree of confidence that they implied. Plus, they were sexy as hell. 

But Rhys had longer been afraid of needles, and pain in general. 

He pulled out his phone. Five minutes to go, and several text notifications from Vaughn.

Vaughn: are you gonna do it?  
Vaughn: what if assquez designed it?????  
Vaughn: his name in a heart or something  
Vaughn: btw i looked it up and laser removal isn’t covered by our health plan  
Vaughn: sometimes its like 10k  
Vaughn: just fyi

More notifications trailed beyond the bottom of the screen; Rhys decided not to scroll through them. He put the phone back in his pocket. 

On one hand, some part of Rhys was aware that getting a tattoo purely to spite a colleague was incredibly stupid. Certainly it was a decision worthy of more than a half-day’s consideration. On the other hand… it _would_ be incredibly satisfying to show up to work on Monday and wipe that punchable sneer off of Vasquez’s face. 

Determined to look like he belonged and not like a kid who had accidentally walked into the locker room on his way to orchestra practice, Rhys smoothed back his hair and put on his game face. 

* * *

The bell above the door chimed his arrival.

Seated in the waiting room reading a magazine was a woman with purple hair and a design on her forearm that made Rhys think of an owl. Further in, he could see a blonde client with her arm stretched out, under the gun of a woman with bright blue hair and elaborate markings down the left side of her body.

None of them paid him any attention as he edged nervously towards the front desk. Rhys cleared his throat politely, but no one moved. Thirty seconds ticked by, or perhaps it was thirty years. He drummed his fingers on the counter. Nothing.

Maybe it was a sign. Maybe the universe was sparing him. Maybe he could slink away unnoticed and forget the whole thing ever happened. Maybe Vasquez was so drunk he wouldn’t remember anyway. Maybe Vasquez was dead in a ditch somewhere.

Before Rhys could capitalize on this potential, the back door swung open. 

“Hey! Sorry about that. I was in the stockroom.” A young woman with dreadlocks and a crop top bustled out. “What can I do for you?” 

She flashed a bright smile as she slipped behind the counter. She wore big earrings and a ton of bracelets. Tiny flowers decorated the fabric of the headband that held her dreads out of her face. Her eyes were very green.

Oh no, thought Rhys.

“I, uh. Hi. I—have an appointment? Now?”

“Oh!” Her smile turned apologetic. “With Lilith?”

“Uh—”

“She’s out today. Personal crisis. I’m really sorry. Came out of nowhere.”

“Um—”

“I tried to call everyone on the schedule, to let you know, but people don’t always leave numbers, and—”

“I—”

“And Maya’s fully booked, actually.” She finished with a grimace. “We’ll have to rebook you when Lilith gets back.” She’d pulled out a binder from under the counter, flipping several pages ahead in what Rhys realized was a calendar. He marvelled briefly at the realization they were still running on paper. Where _was_ he? “Looks like…” She frowned. “Oooh… next month?”

Rhys stared at her. Here, again, the benevolent universe was giving him an out. Perhaps there was a God, and Rhys had recently won some favour. He opened his mouth to say something sensible, like _I’m afraid that’s much too far away, I’ll have to take my business elsewhere, thanks._

Instead, what comes out was, “Can’t you do it?”

Mistake number three.

Startled, the woman looked up, and Rhys stared back, distantly wondering if he looked as shocked at his own words as he felt. 

“Oh,” she said, “I’m… sort of… I’m just an apprentice.”

“That’s okay,” said Rhys, whose mouth had gone rogue.

“I’m not nearly as good as Lilith or Maya,” she clarified. Then she puffed up a little. “I mean, I’m not bad, but they’re, like, geniuses, so…” 

She bit her lip as she considered it. Rhys, for some godforsaken reason, found this utterly transfixing.

“Was it simple?” she asked. “What you wanted, I mean.”

“Yes?” said Rhys, because that is what he hoped the answer was. 

“Let me see.” She looked down at her binder again. “What was your name?”

“Rhys.” Then, instinctively, “With an—”

“H—Y—S?” She finished. “Got it.” She pulled out a page; Rhys tried to get a glimpse, but she took it too quickly, squinting at the detail. “Okay, here we go. Black ink, two inches, side of the neck?”

His _neck_? What the fuck had he been—

“That’s right,” he told her. Which brought the mistake tally up to four. 

“You know, I could _totally_ do this,” she said. “Let me talk to Maya. I’ll be right back.” 

Rhys tried to figure out if that was what he’d wanted her to say, she walked around the counter and went to talk to the blue-haired woman in the corner. She turned without pausing.

“Name’s Sasha, by the way,” she called.

Rhys waved. Sasha beamed at him, and the static in his brain intensified. 

* * *

Vaughn: remember when you fell asleep at that house party and someone drew on your face and it didnt wash off for like a week  
Vaughn: this is like that but FOREVER  
Vaughn: hey are you doing it  
Vaughn: what is it  
Vaughn: WHERE is it  
Vaughn: is it a tramp stamp  
Vaughn: is it the cylon logo??  
Vaughn: send me a pic  
Vaughn: ????

Rhys’ thumbs hovered over the phone screen as he contemplated his reply. _I don’t know what it is. On my neck. Vasquez is a dick. The only available artist is a total rookie. Should have left by now. Haven’t. For some reason._

Behind him, Sasha, Maya and the blonde woman in the chair shared a laugh. Rhys glanced over briefly before looking back at his phone. 

_Totally unrelated: everyone here is super hot, including the rookie. Especially the rookie._

He slipped the phone back into his pocket without typing any of it. 

“Hey,” said Sasha, appearing behind him suddenly enough that he flinched. “You ready?”

“Totally,” said Rhys, who wasn’t.

Beckoning with two fingers, Sasha led him around to the back of the store. Rhys followed like a man on death row, or at least a man who had decided to walk the plank of his own volition. The station Sasha stopped at was hidden from the front entrance, which Rhys thought was good; if he passed out, there would be fewer people around to witness it. 

Sasha set about preparing all sorts of things Rhys preferred not to think about. He loomed behind her, hands in his pockets, trying not to look closely at any of the frightening tools lying about. 

“You can sit down,” she told him, and he did so awkwardly, perched on the edge of the chair. “This your first time?” 

He considered lying, which was both insane and unsustainable. Thankfully, his brain won out. 

Mostly. 

“Yep, total virgin.” His eyes widened and his face burned. He cleared his throat. “Not—I mean—with tattoos, that is. First time for a tattoo.”

“Right.” Sasha sounded amused. “Well, me too.” Her eyes sparkled wickedly as she looked over at him. 

Rhys was halfway through nodding when his mind caught up. “Wait, what?”

“Don’t worry, though,” she said breezily, waving one gloved hand. “I’ve done this to loads of melons.”

“Melons,” Rhys repeated. “That’s, like, a cool industry word for clients, right?”

“No, I mean melons. You know. Honeysuckle? Cantaloupe?” Sasha turned around, shaving cream in one hand and a disposable razor in the other. “Did a banana once, but I ended up squishing it, so I don’t think that counts.”

All the blood that had rushed to Rhys’ cheeks a minute earlier drained out of them very quickly. 

Then Sasha laughed. “Dude, I’m fucking with you. Of course I’ve done this before.” 

“...Right.” He sniffed. “I knew that.”

She didn’t look like she believed him. Hands full, she gestured with her chin. “Lay down. And you’re gonna need to unbutton the top of your shirt.” 

Rhys did as he was told, not the least bit reassured. This position reminded him of the dentist’s office, a comparison that tossed lighter fluid onto the bonfire of his anxiety. 

“Gotta clean it, then stencil, then the real fun starts,” she explained. “Okay?” 

Fun, Rhys thought, was a complete misnomer. He nodded anyway. “Yeah, sure.” 

Sasha walked over, the bare skin of her stomach suddenly inches from his face. He swallowed.

“I like yours,” he said, eager to fill the silence. “Your tattoo, I mean.” A red pattern like a starburst poked out from the waist of her jeans. “It’s cool.” It was the most honest thing he’d said all day, so he decided to linger on it. “Did you do it yourself?”

Sasha chuckled. “Designed it, but no. I’m not a contortionist.” With three fingers on his jaw, she tilted his head to the other side. “But thanks.” She placed the palm of her hand against his neck. “Right here?”

“Y-yeah.” Rhys wondered if she could feel his racing pulse. “Yeah, that’s good.” 

If Sasha noticed his nerves, she didn’t comment on them. She slathered something cool on his neck, and then she—well, he was pretty sure she was shaving him. Which was a little alarming, but significantly less alarming than anything else she was about to do. He closed his eyes.

“So,” said Sasha, “you lose a bet?”

“What? No!” said Rhys, who was, if anything, on his way to winning a bet, thank you very much. “Why—?”

“Just checking,” she said breezily. “Didn’t seem like it matched your whole corporate drone aesthetic.”

“ _Corporate drone aes—?!_ ” He turned to look at her in offense, but Sasha shoved his head to the side again. “Hey!”

“You wore a collared shirt to a tattoo parlour on a Saturday,” said Sasha, not a hint of contrition in her voice. “And the neck’s a weird place to start. It’s cool, though. Start with the most painful place. I respect that.”

Rhys squeaked. “The… most painful place?” 

“Oh, yeah, the neck’s killer,” she said conversationally. “Anything else you get will be a walk in the park.” 

Feeling lightheaded, Rhys was grateful to already be lying down. He squirmed a little, until Sasha flicked the underside of his jaw in reprimand.

“Sit still, I don’t want to screw this up. More importantly, you really don’t want me to screw this up. A wrong move and I could puncture your jugular.” She made a disgusting but very illustrative sound effect. 

“ _What?_ ” Rhys yelped. 

“Oh, yeah. Why do you think we had you sign a waiver?” 

“Hang on.” Rhys could not remember signing anything. Not that it mattered. “Is—are you—”

Sasha cackled. 

Rhys huffed, his irritation temporarily eclipsing his anxiety. “You know, your bedside manner could _really_ use some work.”

“Oh, you’d love Lilith,” she laughed. Something like paper was pressed flat against his skin. “Just trying to loosen you up. You seem really tense.”

“Of course I’m tense. I tense up when strangers with their hands on my neck talk about puncturing my jugular.” 

Sasha hummed in doubt. “I dunno, you’ve been pretty tightly wound this whole time.”

“Well, that’s—that’s—I mean, for one thing, I was expecting Lily—”

“Lilith,” she corrected.

“Right. Yeah. Her. So, y’know, the whole thing was already kind of—disrupted, and—”

“Uh huh.”

“And then you’ve been, frankly, unsettling, so—so—”

“Unsettling?”

“—so it’s not that I’m _tense_ , or _scared_ , it’s just—there’s a lot of—of—” He waved his hand in the air as he fished for the word. 

“Variables?” suggested Sasha.

“Yes. Exactly. Variables. I’m just… adjusting to the variables.” 

“Uh huh.” Sasha ripped something on his neck. “Well, you know, if you’ve changed your mind—”

“I haven’t changed my mind!”

“—now’s the time to do it. I don’t want page one of my portfolio to suck ‘cause you freaked out as soon as the gun touched your skin.”

That, combined with the buzz of the tattoo gun coming to life, was just about enough. Rhys swatted her hand away and sat up to stare her in the face. “Okay, have you or have you not ever tattooed a human being before?” 

Sasha stared back, challenging, one hand on her hip, the other brandishing the tattoo gun. “Are you or are you not here on a dare?” 

Faced with her scrutiny head-on, Rhys flagged. “It’s… that’s… none of your business.”

“A- _ha_!” Sasha jabbed her finger in his face and set the gun down on her side table, triumphant. “Gotcha!”

Rhys glared at her and folded his arms. “You’re not a good salesperson,” he muttered.

“You’re not a good client,” Sasha shot back, but then she softened a little. “Do you even _want_ this tattoo?” 

“Yes!” he insisted on instinct. “Yes, I do, just—just—” But Sasha raised an eyebrow, and Rhys sighed before making the first good decision he’d made in at least twenty-four hours. “Okay, no. Not really.” 

He sat up, rubbing his face with both hands. Sasha pulled over a stool and took a seat. He told her everything, or at least as much of it as he could remember: the work party, the alcohol, the promotion, Vasquez’s unique ability to get under his skin. As he spoke, the chair felt less and less like a dentist’s office, and more like a therapist’s sofa.

“Wow,” said Sasha, when his recap brought them to the present. “That’s pretty stupid.”

“I _know_ ,” Rhys moaned. 

“I mean, you should definitely not get a tattoo because some douchebag challenged your masculinity.” She grinned a little. “You should get a tattoo because tattoos are sexy and awesome.”

Rhys grinned back. “Yeah.” His expression turned grateful. “Hey, thanks for—”

“Warning you know these wax wings were gonna melt before you flew into the sun?” She winked. “Don’t mention it.” 

They smiled at each other for a second, and then Rhys looked away, reaching up to smooth back his hair, unsure what else to say. Probably he should leave now. That would be the sensible thing.

“So… you _do_ actually tattoo people, right?” he asked instead. “Not just fruit?”

Sasha laughed. “Yeah, when I can. Some of my stuff’s up there.” She pointed at the wall, adorned with a small handful of designs. 

Rhys twisted, then climbed out of the chair to get a good look at them. Most of the designs were simple and abstract, but Rhys found them compelling, like puzzles he wanted to solve. He looked closer, then turned back to Sasha. “Sasha, these are great.”

Sasha played with the fingertips of her gloves. “People usually want Lilith or Maya. Like I said, they’re really good.” She looked down at her lap, biting her lip like she was mulling something over. “You, uh, picked one of mine out of the book, actually.” 

Rhys raised his eyebrows. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Rhys thought she looked a little shy. 

“See? I told you they were good.”

“You were drunk.” 

Rhys shook his head. “Doesn’t matter.”

She smirked. “You also specifically wanted Lilith to do it.”

“Well, I was drunk.”

Sasha snorted and shook her head, then carried on before he could say anything else. “Stencil’s done, so at least you can see what it’d look like, sort of.” She rolled her stool to a countertop, grabbed a hand-held mirror, and rolled back. “Here.”

Rhys took his first good look at the design. One full circle, in the centre of a larger circle with a portion missing. Adjacent to both was a dot. It was… different. It certainly clashed with what Sasha had described as his—er—professional aesthetic.

He liked it.

“You know, it _does_ look pretty sick,” he agreed, grinning smugly at his own reflection.

“Maybe drunk Rhys was onto something,” said Sasha. “Actually, I’m surprised they allow that kind of thing up in your ivory tower. Couldn’t cover that with your collar.” 

Immediately, long-forgotten memories of an executive dress code swam to the surface of his mind’s eye.

“ _Vasquez_ ,” he hissed, fuming at the air. “Oh my god. What a dick. I’m gonna kill him.” He pointed at Sasha. “You totally saved my career. I owe you.”

Sasha shook her head, but her eyes were fond. “That’s me, always looking out for an innocent 401K in danger.” She stood up too, peeling off her gloves. “Come on. I’ll show you out.”

* * *

The bell above the door chimed once as Rhys exited, and chimed a second time as a woman in a hood entered behind him.

“God,” said Lilith, sliding down her hood to reveal her bright red hair. “He lasted way longer than I thought he would.”

Settled in behind the counter once more, Sasha looked up from her magazine. “Oh, he nearly went through with it. Pretty sure he would’ve let me, if I hadn’t pushed.” She shook her head. “I gave him the melon line and everything.” 

“Should’ve gone for it.” 

“He’d’ve passed out,” said Sasha, flipping to the next page.

Lilith shrugged. She unzipped her jacket and threw it over the coat rack. “Unconscious clients are the easiest. No squirming.” 

“Didn’t even remember what he’d asked for,” Sasha continued. “I could’ve told him anything.” She flipped to another page. “A tramp stamp of Calvin peeing.” And the next. “Didn’t think suits were supposed to be so trusting.”

“He’d deserve it.” Lilith finished her frappuccino with a slurp. “You know his little corporate buddy offered to pay upfront? Offered me _thirty dollars_.” She dumped the cup in the garbage can with prejudice. “Drunk assholes, wasting my time.” 

“I didn’t think he was so bad,” said Sasha quietly. Then she nudged the jar on the counter and spoke a little louder. “He tipped well.” 

“Good.” Lilith plucked one of the twenties from the jar and stuffed it in the pocket of her jeans. “Covers my extended coffeebreak just now.” She bumped her hip against Sasha’s as she passed. “You can keep the rest. For your troubles. Who’s my two o’clock?”

* * *

The last to close up shop, Sasha hummed along to the store’s music while she swept the floor. 

And then the bell chimed.

“Sorry, we’re closing up,” she said even before she turned, “I—Oh.” 

Rhys smiled and waved from the doorway. “Hi.”

“Hi,” said Sasha. She straightened up, broom in hand. “We’re closed in ten minutes.”

“I know,” he said. “Won’t take long. I just wanted to book an appointment.”

She put a hand on her hip. “Are you drunk?”

“Ah, not this time.” 

He stepped inside with wide, confident strides, and Sasha watched him with a tilt of her head. It had been a few months since their last encounter, and he looked different than she remembered. His clothes looked new. His haircut was nicer. He looked, overall, a bit less like an uptight prick.

She rested the broom against the wall and walked to pull out the binder. “Finally realized there’s a lotta places you can get a tattoo that you can hide at work, huh?”

“Yeaaah, about that.” Rhys leaned his elbows on the counter. “Busy few months. Got demoted. Sort of quit, sort of got fired. Blew a few whistles, burned a _lot_ of bridges. Got headhunted by the competition. Y’know.” He grinned. He was definitely more self-assured than she remembered. 

Sasha nodded on autopilot as she processed the info dump. Then her eyes widened. “Wait, whistles?” She watched him keenly. “That Hyperion scandal in the news, was that you?”

Rhys didn’t answer, but the look on his face spoke for itself. “Anyway,” he went on, “new job, new dress code. So I was thinking…” He nodded towards the binder in her hands.

“Right.” She flipped to the schedule. “Well, Maya’s got an opening next Wednesday, and Lilith can do the sixth—”

“Actually, I was kinda hoping I could get an appointment with you.” Sasha looked up, and he smiled. “Y’know. Assuming you’ve got time between cantaloupes.” 

Sasha studied him keenly for any sign of mischief but found none. His expression was open and earnest. 

She grinned. “I’m sure we can work something out.”

**Author's Note:**

> say hi on Tumblr: [@oodlyenough](http://oodlyenough.tumblr.com/)


End file.
